Stalkers and Roommates
by QueenBea93
Summary: Sam's roommate at Stanford tries to figure out the enigma that is Sam Winchester. Also, he's pretty certain he's being stalked by a very intimidating man in a leather jacket.
1. September

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

September

In my first year of college I became a bit of a stalker. Not that I really had to do that much stalking to be honest, because the guy was my roommate. And no, it's not as creepy as it sounds! It's just that this guy was a freaking enigma, and I did live with him so I felt it was my duty to find out what I could. In a completely non-creepy way. You really shouldn't judge me, cause anybody sane would have done the same, and besides, I guarantee it was more creepy for me than for him.

…

My first impression of Sam Winchester was that he was the polar opposite of me. He walked into what was to be our room early in the afternoon of Saturday, September 1st, aka drop off day. My twin sister Rebecca was moving in two floors below in the same building and thankfully both mom and dad were helping her unpack just then because it would be so seriously uncool to have the parents there when I met my roommate. Especially this one. He was tall and muscular and good-looking, with longish hair and wearing slightly ripped jeans a plaid shirt and a canvas jacket, carrying a worn duffel-bag. He looked cool and poor. Like I said, the opposite of me. Rebecca was sure to fall on her nose in a second for this guy.

Then I looked him in the eye. He looked sad and excited at the same time if that's possible, but he looked really kind too and had a friendly smile with dimples (seriously, why do some people get everything?) as he extended a hand in greeting.

"Sam Winchester, I'm you roommate."

"Zach Johnson, good to meet you!" I replied. He had a firm handshake and lots of callouses. I don't even really know why I remember that especially since I want to emphasise that I'm not really a stalker, I just exaggerated before. Sort of.

He put his duffel on the bed on the empty side of the room, and I thought I'd be friendly to this giant Sam so I asked if he wanted help getting the rest of his stuff or if his parents were helping him bring it up. He looked sort of startled and then turned sheepish.

"Ah, thanks but this is it."

"Oh." I couldn't really think what to say because that duffel was probably what I would pack for a weekend trip.

I kept waiting for his parents to turn up anyway, or someone. Seriously. But nobody came. And I've never felt so awkward hugging my parents goodbye.

Oh, and PS. I was completely right of course. Rebecca has a massive unrequited crush on Sam to this day.

…

Unsurprisingly, it only took Sam about five minutes to unpack and stuff his duffel under the bed. I was still folding shirts (there was sure to be an inspection before the departure of the parents, and I preferred not to fail) when he said he was just going out to look around and buy some stuff. His side of the room was completely bare. There weren't even sheets in the bed. Maybe that's why he went out…

A few hours later I had been saying goodbye to my parents and was coming back to our room. I hesitated to open when I heard a voice. I stayed outside out of courtesy for my new roommate's privacy, not because I was eavesdropping.

"Hey Dean, it's me. I just wanted to let you know that I got here okay and I got a phone. So… this is my phone number, just… in case… you know. Just… so you have it. Uhm okay, bye."

He didn't pause to wait for replies. He was just leaving a message.

…

In my first year of college I thought I was being stalked.

The first time I saw him was during freshers' societies fair. Sam and I had already become good friends even though he turned out to be a bit of a geek. He didn't have that geek vibe about him though, and could have some fun as well, so we got along great. Anyway, we were at the societies fair together and Sam was talking to the representative of some mock legal debate society, or whatever. I don't know but it looked boring! He was really enthusiastic about it though, and I realised I might have to stand there for a good few minutes. Yeah, I know I didn't have to, but we were freshmen and I didn't really know anyone else. And truth be told, geeky Sam looked really cool. I am undeniably cooler than him but unfortunately I don't look it. Dang genes. So I thought it would give me some cred around campus as well, hanging out with Sam.

Wow, that makes me sounds like a bad friend, I really don't mean it that way. I mean, Sam had this presence, this confidence that few freshmen have and we were friends and I was hoping some of that might rub off on me. Or something. Moving on.

I was getting bored, listening to whatever they were talking about, and I turned around to scan the area. Figured I might scout out some hot chicks we could head towards later. I had a feeling Sam with his ridiculously tall and muscular frame could be quite helpful to my endeavour to pick up girls. Now I sound like a bad person again… I really came to care about him eventually, okay, but this was like, the first week of college.

What I saw wasn't some gorgeous lost-looking sorority girls in need of help, however, but a man who seemed to stare straight at me with this really intense squinty look. He was standing too far away for me to make out his face, but he was wearing worn jeans and a big leather jacket and had his arms crossed over his chest. He was leaning against this huge black muscle-car parked by the curb and looked dangerous and really out of place. I mean really, really out of place. People were giving him a two meter wide berth as they passed but he paid them no mind. He just kept staring _straight at me_. It was freaking creepy, and I forgot all about the girls. I turned around again to see if Sam was finishing up - it suddenly felt sort of important to get out of there - but he was still talking and I didn't want to tell him we had to leave because some scary dude was staring at me. That would just make me sound like a wimp.

I turned back again to see if he was still there, but scary-dude was getting into the scary car. Even the noise the car made when it started was kinda scary to be honest - a rumble that resonated in your bones. I looked back to Sam and saw that he had tensed up suddenly, apparently forgetting about the wonders of pretending to defend pretend victims in a pretend court. He swirled around and scanned the street like he was looking for something. Whatever it was he didn't seem to find it, and the black car was already out of sight. Sam shook his head and rubbed his eyes like he was trying to get rid of a thought and it was weird because that was the most out of sorts I'd seen him be in the whole week I had known him. Seriously, the guy was usually cool as a cucumber, even when someone shouted the dean was coming in the middle of a dorm-party where there may or may not have been certain quantities of booze. So, great friend that I am, I asked if he was okay.

"Yeah… yeah, I just thought I heard something." 

A/N: Hi, this is the first story I'm posting here. I hope you like it, and would appreciate any feedback :)


	2. October

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

October

It was the strangest thing. Here's this guy. You think you're getting to know him pretty well. He's a bit reserved, doesn't seem to have a past, and studies more than might be strictly necessary, but he's cool and nice and seems normal enough until out of the blue he just does something completely… weird. And not a little bit weird like that girl who comes to lectures in pyjamas, or that dude down the hall who always wears nail polish even though he's, you know, a dude, but properly disturbing behaviour.

It was about a month into term, and the pace had been picking up. We'd gone out the night before even though we realised that was probably a really bad idea, and while I decided to skip classes that day and try to regain my humanity by sleeping, Sam did no such thing and went straight to a full day of classes, only coming back to the dorms at something like 6pm (at which time I was still in bed because what's the point of getting up at that time anyway when you have to get back in so soon).

So he comes in looking like a zombie, grunts some sort of greeting and then kneels by his bed pulling something out of the duffel bag which has, to my knowledge, been untouched since five minutes after he arrived. Intrigued, I decided to watch the show in silence, but then the silence wasn't a conscious decision anymore as the thing he'd taken out turned out to be a bag of salt, and he proceeded to _pour salt_ on the floor in front of the door and on the windowsills. I found my voice as he was making his way to the second window in the room.

"Uhh, you okay Sam?"

He looked up then and seemed to realise what he was doing for the first time and he blushed like Rebecca's roommate Jessica had the night before when Sam smiled at her.

It took a second for him to get his bearings.

"Oh… sorry… this is… uhh… just going on autopilot I guess. Reflex reaction, sorry."

He hurriedly stuffed the salt-bag back into the duffel and stuffed it back under the bed. Interestingly, the bag didn't seem empty like I had assumed.

"Autopilot makes you pour condiments on the windowsills?"

It's not like Sam's answer made what he did any _less_ weird, you know. What kind of freaky _reflex reaction_ is that?

"It's just… a superstitious thing."

He was still blushing, and maybe if he did this because of a superstition he had reason to. But let me tell you, it sort of gave me the chills cause I've never met a person less likely to be superstitious than always-calm-and-collected Sam Winchester.

The salt stayed in front of the door and the windows until the cleaners came the following week, and once I caught Sam fixing up the line, making sure it was unbroken, where I'd messed it up when I opened a window.

…

For the longest time I seriously doubted whether Sam slept at all. I'm a pretty heavy sleeper and I love sleeping. I mean, who doesn't? Sam Winchester, apparently. He was up when I went to sleep (which wasn't exactly at ten, you know). He was always really considerate about it, and never made any noise. At least, I assume so since he never woke me up. Then when I got up in the morning he was already showered, dressed, ready for the day, and usually studying.

After a while, once I realised it was the same every. single. day. including the weekends, I asked him if he was a vampire, and he found that a lot more amusing than he should have, making me wonder if maybe he actually was. It's a pretty bad joke to laugh at…

Anyway, I decided to find out if and when my roommate slept. That's just the responsible thing to do, I figured, but I also couldn't let him find out about it because he might misinterpret my concern for his wellbeing as creepy, stalkerish tendencies.

Finding out when he went to bed wasn't that difficult. All I had to do was pretend to go to sleep and then stay awake and wait. Turns out he went to bed not that long after me, which was reassuring. Finding out when he woke up was harder, since that involved me waking up before him, and waking up is one of my least favourite things to do. After many nights of trying and failing, I set my phone to buzz at seven and slept with it under my pillow. It was difficult, but I obeyed it and woke up, only to find that Sam was already awake and ready for the day just as usual. At 7am. In _college_! Who does that?

The next day I tried to set my alarm for 6am, but that's sort of ridiculously early, so I failed to obey it. And the next day as well. On the third day, with a monumental display of willpower, I pried my eyes open at that ungodly hour, taking a minute to make sure I could see straight. Then I turned around in bed and saw Sam on the other side of the room. Not yet ready for the day.

He seemed to have just come out of the shower, and was still not wearing a shirt. Now, sharing a room with another guy, you're bound to see each other change some times and it's not a big deal, right? I talked to Brady about it and he completely agreed, but Sam was a bit of a prude. And hell, if he didn't have a reason. I couldn't stop myself from blurting out:

"Holy shit, man! Where did you get those?"

His entire well-defined back (which was the only thing I could see thus far) was littered with scars of various shapes and sizes. When I spoke he whirled around as though I'd caught him stealing, and I found out that his ab-decorated front looked, if possible even more battered.

He had a kind of deer-caught-in-headlights look on his face that would have been amusing at any other time.

"Car-crash," he said quickly, and yanked open a dresser drawer to pull out a t-shirt, but not before I saw a particularly suspect scar on his left shoulder.

"Is that from a bullet wound?" I probably couldn't have sounded more astonished if I'd tried. I seriously need to work on my brain-to-mouth filter, but this was a very shocking situation, I'm sure you'll agree.

"What!? No!" he exclaimed in a voice pitched somewhat higher than usual, as he got stuck in his t-shirt in his hurry to put it on. "It's from this metal rod thing that pierced me. In the crash. It was a pretty bad crash."

Shirt finally on, he stood looking at me with those big, serious eyes, absently touching another scar on his arm which he'd told me came from when he fell with a knife as a child.

"Oh, okay," I said, letting the subject drop.

Sam is a terrible liar.


	3. November

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

November

The second time I saw him was on November 2nd. I remember because it was a friend's birthday. Sam had been really quiet and withdrawn all day, but we made him come to the pub with us in the evening because, hello, friend's birthday, and that's just what you do. Sam was apparently not aware that that's what you do but we told him and he just looked at us with this politely interested expression and raised eyebrows and said 'okay' and then came with us. Seriously, sometimes that guy gives me goosebumps.

Anyway, so we were at this bar. It was mostly a college bar and it was a Friday, so it was full of loud and, yes I admit it, sort of obnoxious students. There were five or six of us and we managed to get a booth. Everyone was chatting except for Sam who was staring into the depths of his beer like it held the answer to the case-assignment he was working on that week. I was sitting at the edge and I suddenly felt someone watching us. Okay, so I know that sounds stupid, but my skin started crawling for no apparent reason, I'm not joking. So I turned around and there he was, sitting at the bar holding a glass of whiskey and _staring right at me!_ He was so serious and focused he didn't even notice that I'd seen him, which was admittedly a bit odd since he was, I repeat, s _taring right at me!_ And it was terrifying!

But, it was a couple of months into the term and I had gained some confidence, or maybe the three beers I'd already had made me brave, it doesn't really matter. I said I was getting another drink and went up to bar to confront him. As the bartender was getting my beer I spoke to scary dude (who had looked down when I got up and was staring into his whiskey like it held the answer to whatever was troubling him - possibly where to hide the body of his next victim).

"Look, man, could you stop staring at me it's kind of creeping me out!"

I tried to sound assertive, I really did, but as soon as I opened my mouth he turned to me and looked at me with these really intense green eyes with an expression like 'why are you speaking to me you cockroach?' He had stubble on his chin that looked like it could be used as sandpaper, even though he couldn't have been more than a few years older than me, and when he turned I clearly saw the outline of a gun tucked into his jeans under the leather jacket. Maybe I didn't sound quite as assertive as I hoped, and maybe I gulped and sent up a prayer that I would live to see another day. But the words were already out.

"I'm staring at you?" he asked, and he actually sounded amused which made everything even more disconcerting.

"Uhm, yeah, could you stop?" I repeated.

And he actually _snorted_ in amusement and didn't seem disturbed at all. "Sure," he said and tipped his glass my way a little before downing the whole darn thing without even blinking.

I murmured a thanks and scurried back to our booth and I wanted to tell my friends about creepy-dude now that I'd braved a confrontation, but I'd only said the words 'there was this guy at the bar' when everybody looked up and Sam tensed like he'd been shocked and almost got to his feet. We all followed his line of sight but there was nobody out of the ordinary there and scary-dude was gone. Sam sat back down, looking confused and still kind of out of it, so Rebecca asked if he was okay.

"Yeah, sorry, I just thought… I thought I saw someone."

…

The thing with Sam Winchester was that he was everybody's friend and many people's best friend, but I was never really sure if anybody was _his_ friend. You know? He was nice to everybody and had time for everybody and listened to everybody's stupid problems and family dramas and dating scandals and gave soft reassurances and hugs to the girls and slaps on the back for the guys and helped people with their homework, but never once did he talk to anyone about himself and his own problems. I lived with the guy, and I can assure you, even with direct questions you were lucky to get a straight answer.

He was a lightweight, though, and we figured, once we had got to know him a bit better, that we might find out some stuff if we got some booze in him. So maybe it wasn't totally kosher of us, because we did plan it and then sort of ambush him with questions, but the guy was like a freaking wall of determination anyway, so there's no reason to feel bad after fact, right?

"What's your family like?"

"Nothing special."

"Where did you grow up?"

"All over."

"Why did you move around?"

"Dad's job."

"What does he do?"

"Mechanic."

"What about your mom?"

"Dead."

All this was said in a flat, emotionless voice, like he was talking about a hypothetical existence that wasn't really his own. Like he was making up a story which he wasn't all that interested in but felt compelled to relate to us. Which, I admit, was at least half true because we were compelling him to speak. Only one question was answered with some kind of inflection.

"You have any siblings?"

"Yeah, an older brother. Dean."

And that one word, _Dean_ , said so quietly it was almost whispered, was full of love and longing and regret. Yes, I realise I sound super sappy but I'm not exaggerating when I say that nobody could think of anything to reply with for several seconds, and our tongues had been generously lubricated by then. The word was so significant to him I almost felt jealous for a moment, wishing there was something I would care enough about to speak of like that.

Sam, suddenly the most sober one in the group, refused to answer any more questions after that. Later when we tried to ask more he just said he already told us about his family.

"There's nothing more to know."

…

Okay, so I do feel a bit bad about this one, but I needed salt and I'd seen Sam take some out of his duffel that one time when he went a bit crazy, and he wasn't in, meaning I couldn't ask him for it so… what else what I supposed to do?

Sam was in class, so I knew there was no chance he'd be back and, like I said, I needed salt. Urgently. For cooking. Cause I do that. So I went under his bed and pulled out the surprisingly heavy duffel and opened it up.

Immediately my eyes fell on a framed picture. It was of a family. Mother, father, and two children; a boy of about four and a baby. They looked happy. I wondered why he didn't keep the picture on his nightstand or something, but it was on top in the bag so he probably took it out and looked at it sometimes. He didn't even want to talk about his family when he was drunk, so it figures he didn't want to look at them all the time. Though they looked so normal and content. Of course, his mom was in this picture, so maybe things changed after she died. My musings were interrupted when my eyes strayed to the other objects in the bag.

The other objects were _weapons_! Real ones. There were _two guns_ in the bag. Not one, but _two_ , and a small dagger and some sort of machete-looking hunting knife. I don't know anything about weapons, but this was some serious looking shit and it was obvious they were… used. The hilts were a bit worn, and the blades were chipped. Freaking guns and knives hidden under the bed of the guy so nice that he apologised to Brady the other day because Brady got a bad grade on a test Sam had helped him study for. What. The. Hell? How does that add up to the same person? Was I living with a psychopath? What if he snapped and murdered me in my sleep one night?

I panicked a bit and tried to put the picture back exactly as I found it but probably failed, and closed the bag and pushed it back under the bed. Then I sat at my desk staring at the wall for three hours.

I forgot about the salt. Truth be told I don't even know how to boil an egg.

 **A/N: Please leave a review if you have a minute. I would love to know what you think :)**


	4. December

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

December

The third time I saw him, I didn't really see him. My mom had come to pick me up for Christmas break and as we drove out of town that big black car I'd seen at Freshers' societies fair was just coming in. We were going pretty fast and I didn't see the driver but I just knew it was him and I couldn't suppress a shudder, because damn if that guy didn't give me the creeps. I actually considered calling the cops on him, but realised I would have nothing to tell them. 'There's this guy who I've seen a couple of times who looks really scary and I have a hunch he's a serial killer' just doesn't make a very convincing argument to put forward to the people at the emergency call centre. Besides, Sam was teaching me how to fight. I could totally take this leather jacket dude. Totally…

…

It's not a very funny story how it came about that Sam, after much persuasion, agreed to teach me to fight. 'Fight' is probably an exaggeration, he just showed me some moves once in the common room, but I felt like a freaking ninja, so I'm gonna call it whatever I want.

Sam was this sort of lumbering kindly giant. He moved almost like he felt he was taking up too much space which, in combination with his personality, made it impossible to even imagine him punching someone. Granted, I had found those weapons under his bed and seen the myriad of scars he had, but those were just unexplained mysteries that went against everything you would assume about the guy if you met him. I worried for a few days after looking through his duffel that he would kill me, but then I realised I may have been overreacting. So, I just let that be part of the enigma that was Sam.

He and Rebecca and I were walking back from the library late one night. We decided to take a shortcut back to the dorms which took us through some parts of campus that were really out of the way, but since there were three of us we figured it was okay. Apparently Sam always took that road.

Suddenly there were four very large men in front of us. I admit I don't remember the exact location or even exactly how it happened or anything because what happened next was just… traumatising! One of them was holding a knife and another one a gun, and the other two honestly looked like they could probably kill a person with a punch to the face, so maybe they didn't need weapons, I don't know.

Rebecca definitely panicked, and maybe I sort of did as well a little bit (come on, a _gun_! I'd only seen a real one once before and that was in my roommate's duffel bag), but Sam was cool as a cucumber. He actually _sighed_ like this was just a real inconvenience, and took out his wallet gesturing for us to do the same. He emptied what he had, which was probably something like 5 dollars because my initial judgement had been correct; Sam really had no money at all. Rebecca and I handed over what we had as well, when one of the men made to grab Rebecca by the wrist, but Sam blocked him.

"No," he said, very calmly and decisively.

"No?" one of the men sneered. "We're calling the shots here, kid. We want the girl too."

"No. We gave you our money, now move along."

"For a college kid you're fucking stupid!" said the burly man doing the talking, who also happened to be the one holding the gun. He brought it up and levelled it at Sam, who still didn't break a sweat.

At this point Rebecca and I were sort of clinging to each other and I was using most of my concentration making sure I didn't piss myself. In retrospect I don't know why it didn't occur to me to take out my phone and try to call the police, but I was pretty certain at the time that if I moved I'd be dead in a second. I know I probably wouldn't have been, but you can't judge me until you've found yourself on the wrong end of a gun and not been paralysed with fear. Which means Sam can definitely judge me if he wants to.

"Don't do this," Sam pleaded. It wasn't a scared plea, it was more an I'm-so-not-in-the-mood-for-this plea.

The man, of course, didn't back down, since he did have a very obvious advantage, but then there was a whirl of limbs and I've never been able to figure out what happened, but the gun flew to the ground and then the guy who had held it went down, then the knife bearing man, and one of the others. The last one took off. It took probably thirty seconds or so, but it's just a blur in my head, like when you're watching a fight-scene in a movie and it's almost impossible to even make out who are the good guys and who are the bad guys. And also I may have had my eyes closed for part of it.

Two of the thugs were lying unconscious on the ground, one of them with a very bloody nose, and the third one was rolling around in agony alternately clutching his arm and his crotch. Sam casually bent down and picked up the bills we had handed over, and which had fallen to the ground during the fight. Then he did that thing to the gun that they do in movies when the thing falls out from the handle and he put the thing in his pocket. Wow, this description is making me feel less manly by the second. I should learn some gun-lingo!

"Let's go!" he said, and started ushering us both along the path.

"You both ok?" he asked after a minute.

Rebecca found her voice first. It's embarrassing, but she's really the more… spunky one of the two of us. "Uh… yeah, we're… okay. What just… how did you do that?" She turned a bit and looked at him. "Oh, my God, Sam you're bleeding, are _you_ okay?"

"I'm fine," he reassured her, wiping at the blood on his chin with his sleeve. "It's just a split lip."

"So, dude, are you secretly some sort of vigilante?" I managed to press out in a voice that shook more than I'd hoped for.

Sam understandably did not grace that with a response beyond a snort.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Dean taught me."

 **A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed/followed/faved. I appreciate it :)**


	5. January

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

January

By the time the new year rolled around, we had become a pretty well-defined friendship group. It was Sam and I, Rebecca, Jessica, Brady, and Brady's roommate Eric. We hung out pretty much every day, and always had a great time. Jess had the hots for Sam, and I'm pretty sure he felt the same, but they were both skirting around the subject, being awkward about it instead of having fun. That's what you get for taking life too seriously, I guess. Rebecca and Eric had started dating though. I don't think they were that into each other, but they did _not_ take life too seriously.

Anyway, we were chilling in Rebecca and Jess' room one afternoon. Sam and Brady were studying, I was unsuccessfully trying to study, the girls were doing something on the computer, and Eric was watching them over the edge of his book.

The girls were oohing and ahhing at something, and giggling every now and then, so I felt I was justified in focussing on rolling my eyes at them rather than doing my reading. Then they came to a decision.

"Guys, we should try to summon a ghost!" Rebecca said in a spooky voice, making me and Brady both snort.

Sam looked up from his papers. "No. We really shouldn't do that!" he said, with only a trace of amusement.

"Oh, come on don't be boring! This is like a college rite of passage." Jess insisted. I'm not exactly sure where she got that impression, but what the hell? Sure beats studying.

"What do we do?" I asked, moving over to look at the computer screen.

"We need to draw up a pentagram thingy, and get some herbs and stuff, and then say this incantation," Rebecca pointed.

"Exorcheesamus tey, ohmnis immunduce spireetus," I started reading, but stopped when Sam burst out laughing. Full out laughing! Which was sort of a rare occurrence. "What?" I asked, slightly insulted that he interrupted me when I was on a roll.

"That's so wrong!" he guffawed.

"Why? What?" I was kind of bewildered actually, because he'd gone from reluctant to ridiculously entertained in less than five seconds for no reason.

"Everything about that was wrong!" he collected himself, still amused, but for some reason also excited, speaking with more enthusiasm than usual. "First of all, that pronunciation was so off I'm pretty sure you can't even call it Latin. And second of all, that's an exorcism for demons, not a summoning for a spirit."

"How do you know that?" Brady asked, and only then did Sam seem to realise that we were all looking at him with wide eyes.

"I… uhh… had a bit of a fascination with the occult in high school," he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, and almost visibly retreating back into his proverbial shell.

"That's great! Then you can help us do this right!" Jess exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Absolutely not!" Sam suddenly turned serious.

"Come on, Sam!" Rebecca pleaded. "I've seen you take down three armed guys twice as wide as you without even breaking a sweat. You're not scared of some supernatural mumbo jumbo are you?"

Her words did not have the desired effect.

"Yes," he said, looking her square in the eye. "I am."

…

Though a bit put off by Sam's behaviour that time, the girls remained hooked on supernatural stuff for a while. Which was why, one week later, we were sitting in the college bar telling increasingly gory scary stories. Not gonna lie, it was fun. Nobody seemed to find it funnier than Sam. He didn't say anything, but had this passive smile on his face even for the bloodiest parts of retellings of meetings with werewolves and vampires and ghouls, most of which we found on the internet.

We all made up some of our own though. Turns out Jess has a really twisted imagination. She told a story about a guy whose family had been killed by a vampire so he started hunting them to take revenge on the one that did it. Finally he found it and managed to get a stake through his heart, but not before he was bit himself. She told it much better, obviously, and it was not only creepy, but sort of heartbreaking. But… right when she was telling the ending, with the stake, and the guy discovering a bite mark on his neck, Sam started chuckling. Jess frowned at him, but finished her story.

"Okay, your turn!" she declared to Sam who had yet to say anything.

"No, I don't have any," he shrugged.

"Come on! Everybody went. It's only fair. And you ruined my dramatic ending."

Like I said, Sam had the hots for Jess, so he gave in pretty easily. And that's when we found out his imagination was even more twisted then hers. His story was… I don't even want to think about it! It was about a climbing party that got stranded in the mountains and started eating each other when they ran out of food, and how they became less and less human until only one monster was standing, lurking in the woods and kidnapping and eating unsuspecting campers. It wasn't exciting or funny or heartbreaking or anything. It was just one hell of a terrifying story, and he told it so vividly it was like he had been there himself. When he finished I couldn't help thinking about Wednesday Addams telling ghost stories to a cabin full of camper girls. Just like her Sam had been in a completely different league of sick and morbid.

"What _was_ that? You said you didn't have any." Jess asked uncertainly. Because seriously…

" _That_ was a scary story. You want to hear another one?"

We really didn't.

…

Sam very rarely got drunk. I don't know if it was because of his health-obsession (what kind of college freshman voluntarily eats salad for lunch?) or because he was afraid he would lose his composure and spill the secrets of his past (which, I had concluded by then, probably involved some sort of satanic cult, and possibly an abusive father), but he was careful about drinking. Which is why it was so surprising when, on a Friday towards the end of January, he got more than a little tipsy entirely without my encouragement.

For the entirety of the evening he had been periodically staring at his phone on the table, between drinks. Eventually it got a bit weird.

"Waiting for some hot girl to call you or something?" Brady teased, inadvertently making Jess and Rebecca pay very close attention all of a sudden.

"What?" Sam looked up, a bit dazed. "Uh, no I… have to make a call."

He grabbed his phone and stumbled outside. And when I was sure he didn't see me, I followed him. Because I'm a good person who was trying to make sure his drunk friend didn't get into trouble. And if I happened to hear the call then that's really not something I can control, is it?

"Hey Dean it's me. Happy Birthday! I know it's late but it's still your birthday. I wasn't sure if you wanted me to call but now I'm drunk so… yeah. Hope you get pie and beer and girls and uh… stay safe okay? Okay umm… bye."

He was leaving a message again, with an uncertainty I hadn't heard since I completely by accident overheard that message he left his brother that very first day of college.

When he hung up he snapped the phone shut so hard I thought it was going to break, and leaned against the wall with closed eyes.

For a second I thought he was about to pass out, so I asked if he was okay and he pulled himself together in an instant. As much as he was able to, anyway.

"Huh? Yeah, of course!"

What a liar.

 **A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed/followed/faved this story :)**


	6. February

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

February

The fourth time I saw him I called the cops.

It was late in the evening and Brady and I were coming back from some comedy show which turned out to be spectacularly terrible because, let's face it, they usually are. Sam had definitely done the right thing to bail. Though he was just sitting in our room studying instead, so I probably would have gone even if I knew how bad it was going to be.

Anyway, we walked around the corner onto the street of the dorm building, and there he was. The big black car was parked on the opposite side of the street and he was leaning against it like he had been the first time I saw him, arms crossed over his chest, and face set in that stony expression which was apparently his default. And he was staring again. Awful though it sounds I would probably have ignored it if he was staring at some other person because that would mean I was safe, right? But he wasn't. He was leaning back a little, and staring up at the window to me and Sam's room. Straight through the window! _My_ window! How did he know where I lived?

I swore quietly and pulled Brady back around the corner and out of sight before he could see us.

"What?" Brady asked in confusion. "You okay man?"

And yes, it was a valid question because I may have been hyperventilating and shaking a little, but that was justified because my stalker was waiting for me outside my building!

So I told Brady about scary leather jacket dude and all the times I'd seen him. Brady seemed pretty freaked out too but…

"Why the hell would he stalk you of all people?"

It was a good question. Because there was absolutely no good reason why he would do that. Unless he was into short, moderately unattractive guys, and somehow he just didn't seem the type.

The fact remained, however, that he was standing there, and I wasn't about to confront him like I had that time at the bar because this was now beyond creepy. Brady agreed we should take the back door into the dorms. We went to his and Eric's room on the bottom floor and I called the police. I was peeking out through the window to check if he was still there, and that's when he caught sight of me.

I guess I probably looked like a scared little girl and I could see his snort of dry amusement from across the street. Then he walked around the car, got in and drove off, shaking his head to himself and confusing the hell out of me. He had such a blasé attitude it almost felt rude when contrasted to my own panicked state… but then again stalking people is also kind of rude. Unless it's done in concern for one's friend's wellbeing, of course.

The police were less than impressed by my description of the man in the leather jacket. I hadn't even gotten the license plates (I'd never forget that again), and it's not like I knew the make of the car except that it was a Chevy and it was old. I'd only seen the plates were from Kansas, which seriously just made the whole thing even creepier. Kansas is far away.

I didn't see the guy again for months.

…

It was obvious that Sam didn't want to share details about his past with us, but it was more than that. Those unexplained things about him. The weapons and the salt and the scars and the knowledge about ghosts and the fighting. They were clearly all a part of him in a much more natural way than dorm parties and student societies and even having lunch in the campus cafeteria.

He was playing a role around us. Pretending he was someone else. It took a while for me to realise this, and I think he began to realise it as well. He started getting this longing look on his face sometimes. I don't think he knew that I noticed but, let's face it, I did an unhealthy amount of watching, so how could I not. He still did his school work to perfection, he was still the model student and the loyal friend, but he did it with less enthusiasm than he had before. He was clearly missing something.

It pissed me off sometimes that the guy I considered to be my best friend effectively lied to me all the time. I mean, I'm sure it was hard for him to pretend like that, but why would he feel the need to? Okay, I can think of a few reasons, but it was still annoying. And clearly, the others in the group felt the same. Especially Rebecca and Jess. After a conversation about family pets where Sam had told us about his dog Bones, and inadvertently revealed he'd only had him for two weeks when he ran away from home (he ran away alone for _two weeks!_ When I ran away, I ran to my friends' house to bitch about my parents for an hour…), they decided to do something about it. Bad idea, girls!

They chose a time when it was just the four of us, and then Rebecca pretty much ambushed him with this whole 'we're here for you' routine that would put a Lifetime movie to shame. Jess looked a bit awkward about the whole thing, and Sam looked monumentally confused.

"What?" he questioned intelligently when Rebecca had finished her speech about friends supporting friends and difficult childhoods and how he would feel better talking about it. Not that I didn't want to find out Sam's deal as much as she obviously did, but in that moment I wished I could believably have pretended not to be related to her, that's how cringey it was.

"I'm just saying that we've known each other for months and none of us really know anything about you. But you don't have to pretend around us, Sam!"

"Pretend what exactly?"

"That everything's okay! Is your Father abusive?"

Oh good Lord, Rebecca, what the hell is wrong with you!?

We realised immediately that was the entirely wrong thing to say. Sam suddenly looked colder than I'd ever seen him.

"No. He isn't," he said shortly.

But Rebecca stupidly didn't relent, apparently having decided that if she was going to screw up, she was going to screw up royally.

"But something is clearly not right, Sam! I mean you don't go home for vacations, you don't talk about about your family, you don't even talk _to_ your family, and when you mention your brother, it's only because we ask who taught you about guns, or to play pool, or to fight. I mean, your _brother_ taught you that? That doesn't exactly sound like a good role model-"

"Stop!" Sam's tone was hard and commanding. He stood up, and I'd never realised just how imposingly tall he was before. "I appreciate your concern, I really do, but this is none of your business. You don't know anything about my family. Don't make assumptions about things you don't understand!"

He said all this in a tone that might have been able to free hell over, towering above us in a way that made it seem like he filled up the entire room, then he picked up his things and stormed out, leaving us in stunned silence.

That was the only time I've known Sam Winchester to get angry, and damn if it wasn't the most terrifying thing I've ever seen!

 **A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think :)**


	7. March

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

March

March means spring, and spring means spring break, and spring break means road trip! At least it did for us that year.

Brady's family had a van we could use and all six of us of went for a monumental drive across the country. Exciting times!

Sam was thankfully the forgiving type, and while he was still a bit awkward around Rebecca he seemed to want to put the incident behind him. So, we piled into the van early in the morning on the first day of break and decided to try to get as far away from Palo Alto as possible before stopping for the night.

We did learn something new about Sam very quickly. He'd told us he grew up all over, but it didn't really click until it turned out he'd lived in pretty much every other town we stopped in. He didn't seem know anyone in those towns, but he always knew where to find the diner, the school, and the closest motel (which we usually passed over in favour of a place with clean sheets).

The real addition to my 'Sam Winchester profile' didn't happen until the second week though, when we were already heading slowly back to California. We had been driving through a part of the US where apparently nobody found it fit to live, and trying to find a place to stop for nearly two hours. We were exhausted and hungry, and it was dark.

We passed a sign telling us we were a couple of miles from some obscure town or other when Sam broke the silence in the car.

"There! Take the next exit, we can stay the night there. It's not big, but they have a motel."

"You sure?" Eric asked sceptically. We didn't see any lights signalling we were getting close to civilisation.

"Yes, I'm sure," Sam rolled his eyes. "We passed through here in summer a few years ago."

Vague remarks like that had become somewhat staple during the past week as Sam couldn't _not_ share things he had experienced, but at the same time tried his hardest to say as little as possible. Nonetheless, he hadn't steered us wrong yet, and we did find the motel only ten minutes later. It wasn't exactly… clean. Or mould free. Or entirely waterproof for that matter, but we didn't have much of a choice.

Then the issue of food. Brady had thoughtfully finished the last of our snack-food during the car ride, mostly out of boredom I think.

"I think there's a pub-type place down the road, but I'm not sure," Sam supplied. "We can ask the lady at reception.

The lady at reception, a large woman with a moustache, was very helpful and told us that there is indeed such a place and they serve food, but she warned us that there was a bit of rough crowd there that night. A couple of rather rowdy men (who apparently did not get along all that well with the locals) had checked into the motel the previous night and were still there. Again though, not like we had much choice. It's times like that when the thrill of spontaneity really loses it's appeal, you know?

Already before we entered the bar - which looked like a hovel, I would just like to point out, and I'm pretty sure I heard Jess muttering to Rebecca that maybe it would be safer to starve than get robbed and hepatitis - we heard raised voices from inside. The only one who didn't seem bothered was, unsurprisingly, Sam. We went inside and that's when things got interesting. Weird, but interesting.

We hadn't even made it up to the bar before a voice shouted from over by the pool table across the room.

"If it isn't little Sammy Winchester!"

Brady was definitely about to burst out laughing at huge Sam being referred to as little until he saw the man who was making his way over to us. He was nearly as tall as Sam, only instead of looking like a lost puppy he looked really freaking dangerous. He was dressed similarly to how Sam had been when he first came to college, in boots and ripped jeans and a canvas jacket, and he looked to be in his thirties. He hadn't even bothered to conceal the hunting knife and gun that hung on either side of his hips. Another man approached behind him, having much the same look about him. His greeting was… weird.

"If you're here about the rugaru, we already took care of it."

What?

Sam seemed to be deliberating whether running away was an option (weren't we all…), but he settled for the exact opposite and gave first man - the one who looked like he might kill you if you looked at him wrong - a hug.

Seriously. What!?

"Caleb!" he said, and then greeted the other man with a handshake. "Joshua. I'm just passing through. I'm on a road trip with my friends from college," he gestured to us.

Our awkward half-smiles dropped pretty quickly when Sam's two thug-friends scrutinised us with poorly disguised dislike and the one called Caleb snorted.

"Seriously Sammy?"

"It's Sam," Sam said in a sort of defiant tone I hadn't heard him use before. Like a petulant child.

"Sure, kid," Caleb looked us over again. "Come play some pool," he said to Sam, apparently deciding to ignore our existence. I was not disappointed about that.

"No thanks, we're just here to get something to eat."

Sam gave the man a tight smile and started to turn away, but Caleb stopped him.

"Jesus Christ, kid! Your Pa's not here, you don't have to prove nothin'. I wanna talk to ya."

He proceeded to push Sam away from us over to the pool table, giving us a last raised eyebrow over his shoulder.

For a few seconds we just stood there, gobsmacked. Then the waiter asked if we were getting food, so we did, and then we sat down in a corner as close to the pool table as possible. It turned out Sam was a much better pool player than he had led us to believe, wiping the floor with both Caleb and Joshua several times. The three of them looked intimidating enough that none of the locals contested their claim on the pool table, though they did grumble rather loudly about it.

What was more interesting were the snippets of conversation we managed to catch over the din of the room.

Some of it didn't make much sense, other than making Caleb seem even more terrifying than he already was. For example:

"… thought we were gonna have to dig up every fucking grave there…"

"… eight people dead in less than two weeks…"

And my personal least favourite:

"… I had to stab it through the heart with a dagger dipped in lamb's blood…"

What the hell is wrong with this dude? And what the hell is wrong with Sam, for that matter? He didn't seem disturbed in the least, just… interested and sort of excited. My suspicions of satanic cult involvement were gaining some serious evidence.

Other remarks, which _should_ have been less problematic (they certainly sounded okay), made Sam clearly uncomfortable, and sometimes annoyed.

"He's proud of you, ya know?"

"…said Dean doesn't do that anymore."

"… would sure like an update…"

"… made Dean really pissed at your Pa…"

Sam's replies were too quiet to be heard, and most of what the others said was lost, but it was clear that they knew Sam Winchester. Not the Stanford alter-ego, but the real one I had unsuccessfully been trying to figure out for the past half year.

Sam sent us reassuring smiles every once in a while, but I think that was more for his own benefit. Sometimes he got caught up in whatever disturbing conversation they were having, but for the most part he just looked uncomfortable. As soon as we had finished our food he said goodbye to his… friends?… and we left.

When were walking back to the motel Jess asked how Sam had known the men.

"They're business associates with my Dad," he said distractedly. Whatever that Caleb person had talked to him about it had obviously gotten to him somehow.

I admit I had to bite my cheek to not say anything about the term 'business associates' being applied to those two. I don't want to rude, but come on!

"So they're mechanics as well?" Jess sounded just as confused as we all felt.

"Uhm, yeah."

I've said it before, but I'll say it again…

What. A. Liar!

…

So I googled 'rugaru'. It turns out they're humans who turn into wolf-like creatures and have an insatiable hunger for human flesh.

Sure.

Why wouldn't Sam have been in town looking for one of those?

 **A/N: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think :)**


	8. April

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

April

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Sam grew up in a satanic cult that practised grave desecration, myth-based brain-washing, and possibly human sacrifice.

Like when he used all of his diplomatic skills to comfort both Rebecca and Eric after they broke up, without making the other one mad.

Or when he complimented Jess on her party-outfit and proceeded to blush like a school-girl.

Or when he ended up passed out on top of his desk after his third all-nighter studying for finals with an empty tin of instant coffee and three crushed Red Bulls in the trash.

Or when he would laugh at one of my stupid jokes and slap me on the shoulder in that you're-such-a-loser-but-I-like-you-anyway way he had.

Sometimes, Sam Winchester was just so normal.


	9. May

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

May

The fifth time I saw him I realised that I'm an idiot.

Not only did I learn that I was not being stalked, but I also got the most important piece of my Sam Winchester puzzle. Unfortunately, it got me no closer to any truth, and made most of my previous assumptions obsolete, but that's okay.

It was Sam's birthday. It was the weekend before finals started, and Brady and I were trying to get everyone pumped to go a little crazy, but our friends are boring prudes so, as per Sam the birthday boy's decision we stayed in the common room of the dorm building. It had a pool table and a foosball table and (since finals were about to start), lots of students who were drinking in denial of their impending doom, so it was an acceptable way to spend an evening, I suppose.

We had a good time for a while. Sam had been a bit withdrawn at the start (not that unusual), but he'd lightened up after a couple of beers, and was pestering us - someone, anyone - to play a round of pool with him. Which nobody wanted to do since he was too good for it to be fun.

Then he materialised behind Sam's shoulder.

"I'll play a round," he said in a gravelly voice.

Sam spun around so quickly I thought he was going to fall over, and it was obvious he recognised leather jacket dude because he was looking at him like… I don't know. It was something like hero-worship, or like he was a magic leprechaun who could grant wishes and knew all of life's answers.

"Really?" Sam breathed, and he sounded so young and so vulnerable that it probably broke the girls' hearts. Just guessing.

"Yeah," the guy shrugged and smiled. Not one of those dry smirks I had seen him give a couple of times, but a real smile that Sam reiterated with one of his own which was wide and genuinely happy and quite frankly made me not recognise him at all because the Sam I knew was serious and a bit broody.

Neither Sam nor leather jacket dude offered us any introductions. They just went over to the pool table and started playing. They didn't even speak to each other, and the rest of us just watched in silence. Rebecca started to ask who he was, but he smirked and winked at her and I think she might have swooned, and she definitely lost the ability to speak. According to the girls' whispered agreement he was the most beautiful man they had ever seen. Yeah. That's honestly what they said…

For all of Sam's skill it quickly became apparent that leather jacket dude (whoever he was) was going to win. He was just about to pocket the last ball when the kind of ridiculous freak accident that only takes place around drunk college kids occurred. What I think happened was that this guy was holding a bottle of beer by the neck, stumbled into the pool table breaking the bottle, and in his eagerness to regain his balance he swung the broken bottle around, hitting Sam in the arm. It was completely implausible, but that didn't change the fact that there was suddenly a lot of blood.

There were scattered screams and gasps and exaggerated 'oh my God!'s and one feral growl which saw the unlucky unsteady beer-drinker pushed up against the wall by leather jacket dude, feet not even touching the ground. I can't remember if he actually did, but I think the guy may have pissed himself. For the purposes of the story, let's say he did, and I don't even blame him. Scary dude banged the guy's head into the wall again and looked like he was just getting started, when Sam called out.

"Stop it, Dean! It's fine, relax!"

Dean. Dean? _Dean_! Of course that's Dean! I performed the most well deserved mental face-palm ever when everything suddenly made sense. At least as much sense as I could have hoped for when it came to the Winchesters.

Dean unceremoniously dropped the terrified guy at the sound of his brother's voice, and all anger left him in an instant as he saw Sam standing there slightly pale, and trying to stifle the blood flowing from his left arm with his hand.

And I saw it then. The expression on stalker guy's - _Dean's_ \- face. He still looked dangerous. Hell, he probably would have had no trouble killing the guy he'd just bashed against the wall. But that was just it. If he killed, he would do it for Sam. It was all about Sam.

And that jealous twinge I'd felt when Sam first mentioned his brother came back.

 _"_ _Yeah, an older brother, Dean."_

 _"_ _Dean taught me."_

 _"_ _You don't know anything about my family."_

…

Dean was by Sam's side in a second, and led him over to one of the sofas in the common room. Most of the other students moved off at the threatening glares the older man threw at them, and the guy with the beer bottle had already left the room.

"Let's take a look then," he said, like this was completely routine which, judging by the amount of scars Sam sported, it might very well be. Sam looked the other way as his brother pried his fingers away from where blood was still oozing rather alarmingly.

"Dammit Sammy!" Dean swore softly.

"It's Sam," Sam replied without heat. "Stitches?"

"Definitely stitches. That's fucking deep."

They both sighed like 'what an inconvenience!' and the rest of us exchanged bewildered glances.

"We should go to the emergency room," Jess suggested carefully when neither brother made a move to get up, but Dean took of his jacket and pulled of his outer shirt, bunching it up and pressing it against the cut.

"No, no, that's unnecessary!" Sam said hurriedly. "Dean'll take care of it."

"What? Are you… medically trained?" Jess asked in confusion.

"Sure sweetheart!" Dean snorted, making it very clear that he did not, in fact have medical training, and started leading Sam towards our room (which he knew where to find because of his stalking which, as it turns out, had been rather stealthy as _Sam_ , the intended target, had never known he was there…) keeping his shirt pressed to his brother's arm the whole time. It was such a surreal experience. Dean seemed to have a personality as crude and aggressive as Sam's was soft and (weird as it sounds when talking about brothers) they… complemented each other. Sam had found what he had been missing.

I sort of felt like we were a bunch of school children at some weird educational play as we all sat down on my bed watching the proceedings on the other side of the room. Dean sent us an amused glance. Fair enough, I'm sure we looked stupid.

Sam kept up the pressure on the wound and said;

"Closet. Bottom right corner."

Dean followed the instructions and pulled out a black bag I had never seen before and turned out to be a first aid kit. Though I don't think my mother keeps dental floss and needles in hers. Then Dean offered his brother a flask which he accepted and took a swig from.

And then - and I know for sure I didn't imagine this because it was the topic of conversation at several points afterwards - Dean stitched his brother up. With dental floss. In a college dorm room. With no anaesthetics. And Sam didn't even blink. I mean, when I stub my toe I swear for several minutes, but Sam was having a needle repeatedly poked through his flesh and if anything he seemed… content with the situation, periodically looking at his concentrated brother with a small half-smile. Like 'yeah, this is what life is supposed to be about.'

Nobody quite knew what to say and everybody else left soon afterwards.

I went to bed and pretended to fall asleep so I could listen to them. I don't think they fell for it because they didn't really say much.

But I do know that Dean made Sam take an extra Tylenol before bed to make sure he would be able to sleep through the night. Kind of like a mother might.

And I do know that he dug the salt out of the duffel under the bed and poured it in front of the door and the windows, all the while admonishing Sam about not keeping safe and how those guns in his bag probably hadn't been cleaned for months and how dangerous that was. Kind of like a father might.

And I do know that right before he fell asleep, Sam whispered to Dean who had taken up residence on the floor;

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Can I come home?" It was said to quietly I almost didn't catch it.

"Always Sammy!" No hesitation. "But I… I thought this was everything you ever wanted?"

"Not everything."

"Okay." There was a beat of silence. "Goodnight bitch."

"Night jerk."

…

When I woke up the next morning they were both gone. The only evidence that I had ever known Sam Winchester was a few stupid selfies on my phone and a note left on the bedside table with a phone number and the words 'If you ever need help.'

I'm pretty sure I'm the least successful stalker ever.

 **A/N: That's it. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed :)**


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